


What Dreams May Come

by BoldlyGone1



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, Happy Ending, One Shot, TAZ: Dust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-15 20:13:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14797181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoldlyGone1/pseuds/BoldlyGone1
Summary: Gandy Dancer faces her fears.





	What Dreams May Come

                 When death came for Gandy Dancer, it came in the form of a bullet to the head. The event itself was quick and painless: first it was a gunfight with a recalcitrant suspect, and then it was one too-slow dodge and a body toppling backwards. It was shouts from her coworkers, and the suspect escaping, and Errol frantically searching for a pulse while Augustus flickered in and out like a lightning storm.

                And then it was a funeral, and Errol making a weak joke about inheriting a creepy doll, and nobody answering.

 

 

                Gandy’s head didn’t hurt. That was the first thing she noticed as she woke up, because she was pretty sure the last thing she remembered was some kind of impact to her forehead. In her experience, that kind of thing usually lead to pain.

                Even more unusual was the fact that she was standing alone in the middle of Dry River town square, where she and the boys had been confronting a suspect. Where was everyone? Had the man gotten away? Maybe she’d passed out, but she didn’t think Errol would just leave her there –

                “Gandy Dancer.” Michael was there all of a sudden, and she failed to suppress the shudder that ran through her. “How are you feeling?”

                “Not so happy to see you,” she admitted, “But I guess it’s nothing personal. If you can tell me where Gus and Errol are, I’ll be on my way.”

                “They are not here.”

                Gandy stared at him. She almost said _No shit_ but decided at the last minute not to be rude to Literal Death. “I know,” she said instead. “I guess they went after the suspect, that’s why I’m looking for ‘em.”

                Michael eyed her in a considering sort of way that she did not like at all. Finally he said, “You may turn around, but steel yourself. Do not be afraid.”

                Afraid of what? Gandy turned. Afraid of herself, was the answer; afraid of her body, lying there behind a lamppost with a hole in its forehead and blood pooling in the dust beneath, with eyes staring blankly up at the sun.

                Gandy couldn’t breathe. At first she thought it was out of fear, but then she realized that she literally couldn’t breathe, could not draw air into her lungs because she didn’t – didn’t _have_ lungs anymore, didn’t need them –

                The facts presented themselves to her very quickly: she had been shot. She was dead. She was now in some sort of other dimension, most likely awaiting judgement from Michael. She was fucking terrified.

                “You are not truly standing in Dry River,” Michael said helpfully, like she hadn’t already figured that out. “This is a sort of – capture of the moment of death, so you may reflect upon it as you are judged. In the living world, time is passing differently. Here, we may have all the time we need.”

                Gandy forced herself not to crumple to her knees as the reality of the situation crashed down upon her. “This – this isn’t right, it isn’t fair, I just needed to do more research, I – I failed, oh God, I’m dead, I’m dead....”

                “Come now, is it really as bad as all that?”

                Michael’s voice broke into Gandy’s spiral, and she stopped, intending to say, _What do you mean, I’m fucking dead!_ Then she thought about it for a minute. It hadn’t hurt, not really – it had happened too fast. Too fast for her to be afraid, even. There wasn’t oblivion or anything like that, at least not yet; she still had her wits about her. And although her research wasn’t necessary anymore, from a scientific standpoint this was quite the experience.

                But Gus, and Errol, and Uncle Oni and the Black Maria – all that was gone.

                Gandy stared down at her own corpse. “What happens next?”

                “Now you will be judged,” Michael said gently, and she found herself turning to look at him as he manifested a massive book and opened to a place near the middle. “Gandy Dancer,” he pronounced, and frowned as his eyes scanned the page. “Oh my. Making deals with demons, stealing books, communicating with chaos gods, leaving a man in a cage to be fed upon, voluntarily allowing corruption into the soul, and –” he eyed her sternly – “hustling a great many people out of hard-earned cash.”

                “Well, yeah,” Gandy admitted, “But I won it fair and square!”

                “You took advantage of gambling addictions,” he said crisply, and closed the book. “Miss Dancer, you have not led a very virtuous life.”

                Gandy swallowed. “So does this mean I go to Hell now?”

                “No,” Michael mused, “That sort of penance isn’t going to be very effective in paying the world back for what you’ve done. No,” he said again, “I think I know just what to do with you.”

                Darkness began to swirl in Gandy’s vision, and she felt as though she was falling, falling away from Michael and his book and her own dead body. As panic rose in her throat and she began to lose consciousness, she thought she heard Michael’s voice, tinged with the phantom of a smile: “You’re welcome.”

      

 

                Errol Ryehouse was on his third root beer of the evening. Sure, whiskey might have been more effective for forgetting his feelings, but there was something comforting about all those little bubbles. Besides, if he was hoping to continue with the case later tonight, he probably shouldn’t get hammered. Gandy’s funeral had been that morning, and then he and Augustus had set out after the smuggler they’d been chasing. Errol now vowed to make him pay not only for his law-breaking, but for what he had done to his coworker – to his friend. The werewolf took another swig of root beer, trying not to remember the gunshot, the feeling of Gandy’s wrist warm but lifeless under his fingers. Oh God, the smell of blood –

                He and Augustus had returned to the scene of the fight, looking for clues that the smuggler might have dropped. They’d stopped at the lamppost where the dust was still stained brown, and Errol had asked if Gus could do his ghost thing and sense what Gandy had felt when she’d passed over. Augustus had gone briefly invisible and then reappeared looking sour.

                “Did you feel anything?” Errol had asked, not sure if he wanted to know.

                “Horror,” Augustus had said shortly, and vanished, leaving Errol to wonder if he’d meant Gandy’s or his own.

                That had been many hours ago, and Errol hadn’t seen the specter since. Draining the last of his root beer, Errol stared down at the counter, where he was surprised to see that his claws had cut into the wood. He clenched a fist. It was ironic, was what it was – so sickeningly _ironic_ that a woman who’d spent her life trying to cheat death had died, and not due to an angry demon or wild spell gone wrong – no, in a simple gunfight of all things, a stupid fight over some stolen booze.

                A soft clink caught Errol’s attention, and he turned to see an empty root beer mug float to the tap.

                “Not now, Augustus,” he moaned, looking around for the bartender. “I’m not in the mood for trouble. And where have you been, anyway?”

                The mug filled itself and began to float towards him.

                “Seriously, Gus, cut it out,” he snapped.

                “Cut what out?” a voice drawled, and he looked over to see Augustus step through the wall. The ghost spotted the mug and narrowed his eyes.

                Confused and annoyed, Errol turned back to the floating mug. “All right, who the fuck –”

                Words left him as a familiar figure materialized and set the fresh glass of root beer in front of him. “I am the spectral form of the wizard formerly known as Gandy Dancer of the Black Maria,” his friend said in her best imitation of a grumpy Southern drawl, “And you’d better not have snooped in my lab while I was gone.”

                Errol gaped, and behind him he heard Augustus start to say something, stop, and then grumble, “You’ve stolen my line.”

                “How – Gandy, what the fuck?!” Errol exclaimed, jumping up from his seat. “How did you become a ghost?”

                Gandy grinned at the two of them, the same old mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Apparently I’ve led such a corrupt lifestyle that I have to stay and work for the Graysons to atone for my sins.”

                “All right, now that’s just plagiarism,” Gus muttered, but as he floated up next to them Errol could tell his mustache was hiding a smile. “You’ve – you’ve stolen my brand.”

                “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” Gandy teased, and then yelped as Errol hurtled through her and crashed onto the ground. “What the fuck?”

                “Sorry!” he gasped, picking himself up. “I was trying to hug you.”

                “Oh – yeah, I’m new to this whole ghost thing, not really sure how that works yet.” Gandy turned to Augustus. “Ghosts can hug people, right? Or is that why you’re so grumpy all the time?”

                “I think you’ve got something there,” Errol said, and grinned as Augustus spluttered in indignation. “Maybe what this team needs is a good ol’ group hug.”

                Augustus promptly floated up to the ceiling. “What we need is to – do _not_ follow me up here, Gandy Dancer, or I won’t teach you how to possess things – what we need is to catch that smuggler. Luckily, I’ve found a few clues down at the river that seem rather promising.”

                “Lead the way,” Errol said, heading for the door. “I’m itching to lay down justice on this guy.”

                “Me too,” said Gandy, following as Augustus floated to the front of the group. “He – oh shit, I’ve got spectral playing cards! That’s better than – wait, Gus, did you say possess things? Oh man, I am gonna get into some shit!”

                Errol smiled as the three emerged into the cool night air. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

               

 

 


End file.
